


Black And Red Lace.

by exquisite-rose (ExquisiteRose)



Series: Black and Red Lace [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: (Light) Cross Dressing, AU, Episode Tag: "Feud" s4e16, Infidelity(?), M/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExquisiteRose/pseuds/exquisite-rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to Sue throwing a black and red lace thong at Blaine, so he could "avoid any visible panty lines".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black And Red Lace.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've never written a PWP for the sole intention of it being a PWP. I must say, I'm blushing about as much a Kurt is. Enjoy (?).
> 
> Note: I put infidelity in question marks because there is no hint of Adam in this, so you can pretty much ignore him. As it's already AU since this would never happen, you could also pretend he doesn't exist or that Blaine never cheated.. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. It belongs to Ryan Murphy, Fox, etcetera, etcetera.

Sweaty and tired after a frankly horribly, impossibly, never-ending Cheerios practice, Blaine headed for the showers, stripping off sweat-slicked clothing as he went.

Admittedly, he'd underestimated the Cheerios. It was no wonder why Kitty was always so cranky and why the Cheerios were so thin. Blaine had never felt so small, exhausted, hungry, and proud before he'd had a practice with the Cheerios and their devil of a coach, Sue Sylvester.

Showering quickly, roughly rubbing off the grime of two-hours worth of sweat from a grueling, constant practice for a competition months away, Blaine hurried out of the showers, toweling off briefly and slipping into his clothing. He hadn't brought an extra change of clothing, which meant he was slipping on his Cheerios uniform once again, including one lacy and tight red thong.

When he'd first pulled it over his legs and between his cheeks, Blaine had blushed to his roots. The idea of wearing a thong-and one so unabashedly girly, given to him by a teacher-had embarrassed Blaine, humiliated him, really. However, after a thorough rant to Kurt over Skype about the cons of wearing thongs and a deep sympathizing complaint for women everywhere who had to suffer the constant wedgies of the dreadful thong, Blaine had felt slightly better, if not for also getting to see Kurt's reaction while he was ranting.

Of which, Blaine had noticed Kurt had become increasingly red during his explicit descriptions of the 'chafing' the thong committed to the soft skin of his cheeks and the tight cupping of his balls against soft, red velvet fabric; and when he had to do particularly stretchy positions or manage the splits, he explained the wet feeling of sweat trickling down his genitals, the soft caress of the cloth teasing his hole..

And maybe Blaine understood the exact reason Kurt's face flushed with arousal as Blaine raved over his new underwear, why Kurt gasped when Blaine went into every aching detail, and why Kurt's hand mysteriously disappeared below the screen when Blaine had pulled down his pants to show Kurt (seeing is believing, right?) the indents on the pale skin from the snug embrace of the thong over his supple body.

Blaine maybe didn't have to bend over for Kurt to imagine the exact depth the thong had, maybe didn't need to snap the waistband of them for Kurt to understand the restrictive limits that shifted against him with every movement, and, he thought, he most definitely didn't need to push the thong around his thighs to show Kurt the small, red marks on his waist and the insides of his cheeks, the imprints of the flowery lace and tight lining, which had grown tighter with the increasingly decreasing space in his lingerie.

Maybe Blaine didn't have to promise huskily that he'd give Kurt a full performance of everything he'd learned and every complaint he had when Kurt dropped in for his next visit, maybe didn't have to suggest he'd do it only in the thong-or, if Kurt was very good, without anything on at all.

Maybe he didn't have to grin wickedly as he masturbated teasingly into the camera, quick swipes over the mushroom head and down the tapered vein, or moan wantonly when he saw Kurt's hand pumping quick and sure, too, pant harshly as he felt his muscles tense and clench, cry out desperately as he toed the edges of pleasure and pain, and sob Kurt's name as he came blindingly all over the lacy red and black fabric.

But he did, and he grinned triumphantly, if not lazily and post-orgasm boneless, when Kurt informed him breathily that he'd booked a plane flight.

Snapping back to the present, Blaine grinned, ran his fingers through his wet, ungelled hair (which Kurt had the pleasurable tendency to tug), and hurried to his car, eager to get to the airport.

Before turning on the engine, Blaine sent off a quick text, blushing slightly as he put his phone away and clipped his seatbelt on, thong shifting slightly between his cheeks. His stomach warmed pleasantly and his pants tightened achingly as he imagined Kurt's embarrassed and aroused flush when he read the text in the crowded Lima airport:

(Sent 4:45 pm):

I'm wearing them.


End file.
